


heaven trembled & fell at our feet

by SparkleMoose



Series: heaven trembled & fell at our feet [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ableism, Blasphemy, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fuck Bahamut and His Prophecy We Gettin A Happy Ending, Good Dad Ardyn, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Journalism, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, More Murder and Gore Than You Can Shake A Fist At, Murder, Painkillers, Rating May Change, Starscourge, Supernatural Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Alright, Jean will be the first to admit that being reborn as Ardyn 'Murder Chancellor' Izunia's child was not his first choice or even his second really, it just kinda happened. Now that he's here though, he might as well make a mess of things.After all, no one said he'd stand back and watch his father die, did they?





	1. Prologue: What Does A Man Want?

**_all people are driven_ ** **_  
_ ** **_to the point of eating their gods_ **

**-margaret atwood, eating snake**

* * *

 

 

There are few certain things that Jean knows about life. He knows that it’s painful, cruel even, but that despite that joy can come in from the most unknowing of places. Jean knows that life goes on despite everything and he knows that it must end.

 

Expect-

 

Expect his life hasn’t ended; and all he can do is stare, horrified and fascinated, at the blood staining his hands from where his throat was silt. Jean can feel his blood gush from his ruptured artery and unwittingly tries to stop the bleeding by pressing his hand against the open wound.

 

Above him, the man who silt Jean’s throat drops the blood-soaked knife and stumbles backward. “What are you?” the man asks, breathless in fear. 

 

Jean tries to answer, tries to speak, but despite the fact, his throat stopped bleeding he doesn’t manage to make a sound. What comes out when he opens his mouth isn’t a response or a scream.

 

He opens his mouth, and blood as black as night comes streaming down his chin and splatters onto the sidewalk below him. Jean’s eyes widen at the sight of black blood on the concrete.

 

It takes him a moment to realize it’s coming from him.

 

His almost-killer is panting now, Jean can see him from where he is kneeling over the sidewalk covered in red and black blood.

 

Jean realizes he can smell the sweat, the fear, of the man in front of him and raises his head to look the man in the eyes. It’s odd, his sense of smell has never been so profound before. But now he can smell the blood in the air, the sweat of the man who tried to kill him. Jean can hear the man's heartbeat, can see how the man's pupils dilate with the adrenaline running through his body. It’s as though his senses have been enhanced by tenfold and Jean can’t help but stare at the man; captivated by his fear.

 

Something in Jean, something strong and ugly rears its head as the man talks two steps backward, the almost-killers eyes never leaving Jean’s face even as he goes white.

 

The man turns to leave and the ugly thing that rests within Jean lunges. Darkness covers the alleyway Jean was almost killed in, the man’s screams clear as crystal to Jean’s ears but nothing escapes the black void around Jean or the man.

 

Jean blinks once and the darkness recedes. What’s left in its place is the pale as bone corpse of the man that that tried to kill him.

 

_ The Scourge,  _ Jean thinks as he stares at the bone-white corpse with bulging dark veins, _ The Scourge did this.  _ But he knows that’s not completely true. Jean had a part in this, the ugly thing that curls around his heart and turns his blood black had a part of this. Jean had a part of a man’s death and he can’t help the gut-wrenching wail that escapes him or the black tears that make their way down his face.

 

What is he? The question dances around Jean’s mind as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out the image of the man’s corpse from his mind. What is he? Jean had thought he was human but now he doesn’t know what he is and it terrifies him.

 

Eventually, his wailing stops and fades into soft, hiccuping sobs that hurt Jean’s throat. He doesn’t know how long he stays there in the alley, sobbing as softly as he can as to not disrupt the outside world; but soon enough, footsteps echo down the length of the alley and Jean’s head jerks up and his eyes open to look up at the person entering the alley.

 

He almost begins wailing again when he sees that it’s his father. That his father went looking for him and found him and Jean can’t help the harsh sob that escapes his throat. 

 

His father approaches him, heedless of the Scourge ridden corpse that he walks around to get to Jean. Ardyn kneels in front of his son, and for once, Jean can see what seems to be real sorrow in his father's gaze.

 

“Oh, my son,” Ardyn says, voice surprisingly soft but there’s steel in his eyes, “What have they done to you?”

 

His father’s voice is the only initiative Jean needs to throw himself into Ardyn’s arms and cling to him. Ardyn picks him up with the ease of someone long used to caring for children and Jean feels the world shift around them as Ardyn carries them away in a warp.

 

The last thing Jean remembers before letting exhaustion claim him is being laid on a plush, soft bed and Ardyn reassuring him that he’d be back.

 

* * *

 

Jean opens his eyes to find himself suspended in light. Blinking when he feels his feet hit what seems to be solid ground he looks down only to find more light. 

 

It’s odd, Jean finds, that he’s being supported by seemingly nothing and yet his brain tells him that something has to be there underneath his feet but when he looks all he finds is more light.

 

A confused noise escapes Jean as he turns his head to observe his surroundings. There seems to be nothing but white light stretching on for miles. It seems oddly familiar, as though he had been here before.

 

**_DO YOU NOT REMEMBER?_ ** a booming voice asks, echoing off the light around him.

 

Jean spins on his heel to find it. What he comes face to face with knocks the breath out of him and it’s reflex that has him taking a step back. 

 

A large, armoured figure stands in front of Jean, the horns on the helmet remind Jean of the ones he had seen on dragons in the books his father would read him. The figure itself is larger than any building Jean had seen before and Jean can’t tell if the wings actually sprout of the figures back like the wings of a bird or if they are just attached to the armour.

 

**_YOU DO NOT REMEMBER,_ ** the figure concludes and sounds disappointed, **_I WILL REMIND YOU._ **

 

Jean doesn’t have time to answer because his mind is flooded with memories. Memories of a past life, of a life where he died. Where he was stabbed thirteen times in the chest by his brother and leave to rot near their childhood farm. Jean remembers facing the void and being so utterly scared he felt as though he might go mad.

 

Someone had come to him then, an old bearded man with magenta eyes and a tall staff. He had come and taken Jean from the cold void and bathed him in light. There had been a field of purple flowers and an endless sunrise and Jean had felt truly at home since the first time he realized he wasn’t wanted by his family.

 

None of his family had wanted a cripple, they had just been too polite to say it. Instead, they had used words meant to threaten and belittle to force Jean away from them. They hadn’t been violent until one day his brother had asked Jean to come out to their farm for a visit and when Jean had his brother had decided to kill him.

 

Jean remembers bleeding out, remembers the agony of being stabbed. The sharp pain of the knife in his chest as his brother stabbed him over and over again. Jean’s breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he runs a hand down his chest to ensure that he’s not bleeding, that he’s still alive.

 

“I died,” Jean says more to himself than the figure in front of him, “I was dead. Why am I not dead?”

 

**_YOU HAVE A TASK TO FULFILL._ **

 

Jean laughs, more than a little hysterical. “Oh? And pray tell, what would that task be?”

 

**_THE ACCURSED MUST DIE. WE HAVE GRANTED YOU THE POWER TO AID THE KING OF KINGS IN HIS DEFEAT._ **

 

And that sounds familiar. Sounds as if the figure is telling Jean something he’s heard over a thousand times and before Jean knows what’s happening he’s reminded of a video game. Of a young man named Noctis and another man called Ardyn and-

 

_ Oh. _

 

“No,” Jean says, and the ugly thing in him rears its head once more. Jean pays no mind to the blackened blood pouring down his cheeks or how his hands shake, “I don’t care about your prophecy. I will not be complacent in the death of my father.”

 

**_YOU HAVE NO CHOICE._ **

 

“This is just a fucked up game to you isn’t it?” Jean says and knows that darkness, his darkness, is spreading across the light that Bahamut brought with him, “You don’t actually care about any of us as long as we amuse you. We’re just a means to an end aren’t we?”

 

The next time the voice speaks, it shakes the light that Jean is standing on.

 

**_YOU DARE-_ **

 

“Yes!” Jean screams, “I fucking dare! That’s my father, the man who is raising me. The only source of affection I have in this fucking life and you want me to aid his murderer! I won’t do it.”

 

**_THEN YOU WILL SHARE HIS FATE._ **

 

Those are the last words Bahamut says before Jean wakes up gasping and with his fingers digging into the sheets he had been laid on.

 

Father, is the first thought that runs through Jean’s mind. He needs to make sure Ardyn is safe, that his father is alive still. He needs to make sure that nothing happens to Ardyn because Ardyn is his only family and he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to him.

 

Slowly, and noting the change of his clothes while he had been asleep, Jean pushes himself off the too large bed and makes his way out of the bedroom and into the living room where he finds his father seated on a rather large and lavish red velvet chair.

 

Jean ignores the way his father’s eyes follow him as Jean makes his way to the chair his father is seated in and promptly makes himself comfortable on Ardyn’s lap.

 

That’s the easy part. The harder part is ignoring his father’s chuckle and the way Ardyn’s grip is almost too tight around Jean as Ardyn holds Jean close.

 

“Dad,” Jean says, because it’s better to be honest with Ardyn, “Dad, they wanted me to kill you.” As soon as the words are out of Jean’s mouth he can feel Ardyn stiffen, can almost taste the rage that fills the air with his words.

 

“Who did?” Ardyn asks, his voice deceptively calm but Jean can feel the storm rolling underneath his fathers' skin. It should scare him, being this close to someone with a taste for murder and a lust for blood but it doesn’t. Because Ardyn is his father and Jean knows that Ardyn wouldn’t intentionally harm him.

 

A flash of his former brothers face comes to mind and Jean pushes it back down. “The Astrals, Bahamut,” Jean replies, burying his face in Ardyn’s shirt, “I told them I didn’t want to.”

 

“Why not?” And there is something like genuine curiosity in Ardyn’s voice. As if Ardyn knows what Bahamut told Jean.

 

Jean shrugs.

 

“Because you’re my dad. You protect me, so I have to protect you too.” Ardyn’s laugh sounds forced and Jean grips his father's shirt more tightly, “You’re my father,” Jean says, “And I don’t care about what you’ve done as long as you remain my dad.”

* * *

The anger that had coursed through Ardyn when he heard his child wail in terror and sorrow from across the town was legendary. Somehow, Jean had managed to escape the grasp of his babysitter and while Ardyn was dealing with their incompetence he had heard his child, his son, scream from a good three miles away.

 

Ardyn can't remember the last time he had warp in such quick succession. When he had arrived at the alley that housed his child he nearly had the breath taken from him. Jean, his son, was sobbing, tears of black blood pouring down an ivory pale face decorated with bludging black veins. His son had the Starscourge, was Ardyn's first conclusion, his second was that his son was like him.

 

Red blood decorated Jean's throat and lead a path down to the top of his jeans. A few feet away from the boy, a bloodied knife lay. It didn't take Ardyn long to realize what happened there and when he did it took an effort on his part not to let his rage consume him.

 

How dare they touch his son? How dare the corpse even think about killing his son? How dare they?

 

If the man wasn't already dead Ardyn would have taken pleasure in killing the man in the most brutal way he knew how. Instead, he gathers Jean in his arms and warps them back to the apartment they have in this small, unassuming town.

 

When Jean wakes up, Ardyn has to fight down another rush of anger at the thought of what the Astrals had said to the boy. That they thought they could use his son as their pawn makes Ardyn's vision blur red and he almost forgets to remain calm in front of his son.

 

His son is naive and young and it shows but for some reason, for some reason his son believes in him. That's new, and rather discerning; as no one has believed in Ardyn for a very long time but he thinks that he rather likes it.

 

As for the Astrals? For the fact they dared try to make Ardyn's son apart of their prophecy? They are going to burn. Plain and simple.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slam dunks this into the fandom* and here you have it folks, the ardyn has a kid au complete with murder, murder, and some more murder.
> 
> oh and godkilling, can't forget about that.


	2. Dead Gods Still Dream

**_When questioned you’ll stick to the story:_ **

**_Alive without permission,_ **

**_Rusting away in the sun._ **

 

**Camille Rankine, Instructions for Modern Graffiti**

* * *

 

 

Jean knows he has to tell his father about what happened. About how he got in the alley in the first place. Jean has to tell his father about how he his babysitter had taken their eyes off Jean for a moment and Jean had been taken. He has to tell his father about how he died because Ardyn is bound to notice the changes that come from Jean remembering what happened to him in his previous life.

 

Jean has to talk to his father about these things. These are important things and he has to talk to his father about them because Ardyn needs to know. 

 

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to deal with the abandonment that will undoubtedly come when Ardyn realizes Jean isn’t who Ardyn thinks he is.

 

Jean buries his face into his father's shirt and relishes in what he thinks could be the last embrace he receives from his father. 

 

“Dad,” Jean says, remembering the events of the night before; how Jean had fallen asleep on Ardyn’s laps after he had told Ardyn about his conversation with Bahamut. He doesn’t want to lose what he has but Ardyn deserves to know, “Dad, I have a story to tell you.”

 

Ardyn shifts in the chair, moving Jean with him. “Oh?”

 

“It’s… it’s not a happy story,” Jean admits, “But it’s an important one. I have to tell you and you have to listen. Okay?”

 

Ardyn is curious now, Jean can see it in his father's eyes, but Ardyn doesn’t push, doesn’t ask questions.

 

Instead Ardyn nods and Jean takes a shaky breath.

 

“There was once a man with dark eyes and dark hair. The dark-eyed man had a family-” Jean’s words hitch on the word family “-But his family wasn’t fond of him. The man was disabled you see. His skin was too loose and the collagen in his body didn’t work like it should. He couldn’t do a lot of things others could without being in pain. And some things he couldn’t do at all.” Jean goes quiet, his mind turning over memories of his past life, how he was scorned when he told his mother he couldn’t walk or run as far as she could. How his mother would hurt with words and how he was pushed and pushed and pushed until it hurt to even breathe.

 

Jean remembers how when his kneecaps slide out of place his brother used to help him, how his brother stopped helping him as they got older.

 

You’re older than me, Jean’s former brother had said, You should be doing more. You’re useless if you can’t.

 

Jean takes a breath, closes his eyes, and continues.

 

“His family scorned him for this,” Jean says, “His family believed that those who couldn’t work as they could were worthless-” Jean opens his eyes again, looking anywhere but at Ardyn’s face, “-They shunned the man. Until one day, the man’s brother invited him back to the family farm under the guise of reconciliation. The man went and when he-” Jean stops again, his breath coming quickly “-When he...” Jean trails off, unable to find the words to express what happened.

 

Jean tries to start again, to find words but it’s hard, the look of grim satisfaction on his former brothers face as he stabbed Jean flashes in Jean’s mind and Jean feels tears well up in his eyes and tries in vain to stop them.

 

“Oh god,” Jean says, his hands giving up their vain effort to stop the tears and instead clutching at his chest, “Oh god. Oh god, I died.” The last word comes out as a wheeze. Jean hunches over in his father's lap, his hands at his heart as though to reassure himself that he’s alive, that he exists.

 

Beneath Jean, Ardyn is tense, the arms around Jean tight and restricting but when Jean pushes at them they fall away and Jean falls to the ground in a graceless heap.

 

Jean is aware he’s crying, that his face is puffy and red and that he’s panicking but he died. He died and couldn’t do anything about it. He should still be dead but a god had decided to intervene and throw him back into the world of the living in a different body.

 

There’s a part of Jean that wishes he was still dead. That he hadn’t been brought back, that he could go back to the peaceful field of the afterlife and rest.

 

But his father is here.  His father who will have no luck finding eternal rest as long as the Scourge remains; and so a larger part of him is glad he was brought back, glad that he is able to give his father some company.

 

If his father still wants him, the thought brings Jean’s mind to a halt, he had considered the fact that his father may not want a child with the memories of being someone else. Jean knows his father is possessive, knows that when he views something as his, it means it's his and when Jean had told him that Jean had been another, different person before becoming Ardyn he feared that Ardyn would throw him away.

 

Jean doesn’t want to be thrown away. He wants to stay with his father, the one person in both his lives that actually seems to care for him. He wants to stay with Ardyn and unless he is forced away he is determined to do so.

 

Jean twists and turns so he’s sitting facing his father and tugs on a strand of red-violet hair he inherited from Ardyn. “Dad?” he ventures cautiously, eyes darting to Ardyn’s unreadable face before quickly looking elsewhere, “Dad is it okay that I- that I was someone else before?”

 

Ardyn moves, slow and graceful and still Jean flinches as though he’s expecting to be hit. Ardyn pauses in his movement, eyeing his son before kneeling down to Jean’s level and looking him in the eye.

 

“You are my son,” Ardyn says, “You are a child of my flesh and blood and _ nothing _ , no memories of past lives or even the Astrals themselves will change that.” Ardyn offers a hand to help Jean to his feet.

 

Jean takes it. It feels like signing an oath, like a declaration that no matter what comes they will be there for each other.

 

Jean doesn’t regret it.

 

* * *

 

Jean has questions.

 

“Dad,” he asks later that night, “Dad what did I do to the man in the alley?” He already thinks that he weaponized the miasma from the Scourge, made it a cloud of ill intent and darkness that infected the man with late-stage Starscourge and left him dead by the time it had dissipated but he doesn’t know for sure what he did.

 

Ardyn hums as he considers how to answer. “I believe,” Ardyn says, “That you weaponized the Scourge in you. That you took the darkness in you and turned it into a miasma that infected the poor fool that dared harm you.” There’s anger in the way Ardyn says fool, as though if Jean hadn’t killed the man Ardyn would have done it gleefully and with no remorse.

 

Jean still has to tell his father about the other kidnappers. The ones that had left the grunt to do the dirty work. He’s silent for a moment before speaking again.

 

“Dad,” he says, “I didn’t sneak away,” Jean pretends not to notice how Ardyn stills and takes a deep breath, the faces of his kidnappers still fresh in his mind, “I was taken.”

 

The anger that comes off of Ardyn is almost startling, but Jean has learned how to read his moods by now, know that this anger isn’t directed at him but his kidnappers.

 

“It wasn’t Miss Lucy’s fault,” Jean is quick to defend his former babysitter, “She didn’t know. We were shopping and she took her eyes off me and they grabbed me before she thought to look.”

 

“She should have kept a better eye on you,” Ardyn’s voice is cutting, murderous almost and Jean sighs because he knows this isn’t directed at him.

 

“Dad,” he says patiently, “She doesn’t have eyes on the back of her head. She couldn’t have known what was happening.”

 

Ardyn makes a sound of disagreement before meeting Jean’s eyes. “Do you remember their faces?”

 

Jean thinks of the blonde men who were sent after him. “I do.”

 

“Good,” Ardyn says and his smile shows teeth, “Tell me what they looked like.”

 

Jean does.

 

* * *

 

Ardyn is furious.

 

There are no other words to describe how he feels, how he wants to burn the flesh off those who dared to try and take his son from him. There are no words to describe the rage of a loving parent when they find out harm has befallen their child.

 

Ardyn relishes in the feeling of bone being broken under his feet. He relishes in the screams of terror and pain that come from the kidnapper's mouths as he takes information from them. He makes sure they know why he is doing this, that his son is off limits.

 

Then he turns on the camera, faces the camera, pulls the miasma of the Scourge around him like a cloak so only his eyes and teeth are showing and smiles; sharp and deadly.

 

It is not a nice smile, and Ardyn has never claimed to be anything but a monster.

 

He smiles at the camera and swings it around so it shows the bloodied and broken bodies.

 

“Do not think this is the worst I am capable of,” Ardyn says, voice ringing and inhuman, “I am capable of far, far worse.”

 

* * *

Jean doesn’t need his father to tell him what happened to his kidnappers. The way his father saunters in through the door to their apartment one evening covered in blood.

 

“They will not be bothering us again,” Ardyn tells Jean, “I have made sure of it.”

 

Jean nods his head and goes back to reading a book that is too complex for someone his age.

 

Normal eight-year-olds don’t read this universes version of Nietzsche.

 

Ardyn goes to shower, and when he comes out, makes no comment on his son’s reading choice.

 

* * *

 

Ardyn does not speak of Jean’s former life. Letting Jean give him information on what it was like as he pleases.

 

“I went to college,” Jean says one day, “I was a double major in Philosophy and English. One of my friends wanted me to get a law degree because I was adept at arguing my point in everything.”

 

“Those are interesting things to study,” Ardyn says, “Not very useful unless you’re an author though.”

 

Jean throws a coin at him, Ardyn catches it and laughs.

 

“I was a journalist,” Jean says snidely, “I was quite good at it too.”

 

* * *

 

Ardyn teaches Jean things, he teaches Jean how to control his emotions. How to reign in the Scourge inside like a dog on a leash and how to let it know when to bite.

 

The Scourge, Jean finds, is like another limb. It’s another thing he has to learn how to control and it’s hard.

 

A part of Jean is still frightened of this part of him, frightened of the darkness that lurks within. But he knows he has to learn how to control or be hunted. He has to learn to control or harm people without meaning to and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

 

So he learns, he learns how to sense when daemons are near, how to infect others with the Starscourge and watch it twist them into something else. 

 

In theory, at least, Jean has never practiced infecting someone with the Scourge after what happened in the alley, he doesn’t want to hurt people but if someone even tries to hurt his father then he’d have no choice.

 

A part of Jean knows that Ardyn can take care of himself but a bigger part, the part that knows how his father dies, tells him that Ardyn needs to be protected. That his father deserves a natural death and not one orchestrated by gods.

 

Along with lessons on the Scourge come lessons with magic; Jean can conjure ice out of thin air and cause the temperature in a room to drop. By the time he’s ten and two years have passed since the incident in the alley Jean and Ardyn have left the town to wander. They visit Galdin Quay, Lestallum, a chocobo outpost where Jean befriends a small black chocobo and Ardyn takes a picture of Jean and the chocobo together. A small allowance Ardyn indulges himself in rarely as he has many enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to use Jean against him.

 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Jean asks, curious one night, “Not spending time with me?” Because Ardyn is still Niflheim’s Chancellor and if he wants to maintain his sphere of influence than he should be near the Imperial Palace more often than he is.

 

“Hm, yes there is that,” Ardyn agrees, “I should be working, but who’s to say that spending time with you isn’t working?”

 

“Dad,” Jean says blandly, “Parenting may be a job but I’m not that much of a handful.” Jean doesn’t mention the way his joints have been bothering for the past two years, doesn’t mention the pain that comes when they walk too far because he has a feeling that Ardyn already knows.

 

“The internet and telephones are magical things,” Ardyn says.

 

“Dad,” Jean says, his voice a warning, “Dad, you can’t just ignore your job to raise me.”

 

“I would not put you at risk by exposing you to the public,” Ardyn says, voice stern, “If I must suffer through the use of technological devices then so be it.”

 

Jean is silent for a moment, touched by the fact that Ardyn cares and troubled by the fact Ardyn seems to care more about him than the fact he should be doing his actual job of running a country.

 

“Dad,” Jean says slowly as an idea forms, “Didn’t it used to be commonplace for Niflheim nobility to wear masks?”

 

“Yes,” Ardyn says, a light in his eyes that says he knows where Jean is going with this, “Continue.”

 

“Aren’t we technically nobility? Couldn’t I just wear an outrageous mask as a fashion statement so no one would know what I actually look like?” It would be obvious to the casual onlooker that Jean isn’t from Niflheim, his skin is too dark and his eyes a brighter gold than his father’s but his hair mannerisms would give him away as the son of the Chancellor to those who knew what to look for.

 

“I believe,” Ardyn says, “That you have a point. However, may I remind you that you would still be vulnerable without my presence?  I have many enemies in Niflheim who would not hesitate to use you against me.”

 

“Well,” Jean says, “I suppose you should teach me how to use weapons then.” So far Ardyn hasn’t taught Jean more than hand to hand, instead focusing on teaching Jean how to use magic, how to access the armiger and how to contain the Scourge.

 

“I suppose,” Ardyn says, “That I should.”

 

* * *

 

It’s after they start weapons training that Jean realizes he can no longer keep hiding how much he hurts from his father. How he can feel his knees grind and how when he moves his elbows they crack. He has pains in his knuckles and when he spreads them out they curve upward. His skin is far more stretchy than it should be and on a whim, he does a test his doctors in a former life once showed him.

 

He pulls the skin on his palm measures how far it stretches, he does the same on his elbows and knees and wishes he hadn’t.

 

It’s a sign of Ehlers Danlos he knows, having hyperextensible skin. But until he gets a genetic test done he can’t be certain what it is.

 

He did have Ehlers Danlos in his past life however, it wouldn’t surprise him if it carried on over to this life as well. Besides, he can’t get the testing needed to diagnose it properly now, he’s to remain anonymous and he couldn’t do that if he went in for testing.

 

Not to mention he has no medical records in the first place.

 

“Hey, Dad,” Jean says one day while they are travelling back to Niflheim, “I hurt all the time.”

 

“As do I,” Ardyn says, “I know where to get good painkillers, let me know when you need them.”

 

“Alright.”

 

That ends the conversation.

 

* * *

 

As soon as they cross the border into Imperial territory Jean slips on a mask. 

 

The mask itself is simple but ornate to catch the attention of those who supposedly rank higher than him. It is a gold piece engraved with flowers; the largest two are bursting roses that sit atop where his the holes for his eyes would be had this mask had such holes.

 

It doesn’t, the mask Jean wears is a blind mask. It hides the top part of his face from sight completely, no holes for him to see through and it ends at the tip of his nose, curving downward in such a way that leaves his mouth and jaw visible so Jean can still speak while wearing it.

 

Jean slips on the mask, and the world around him goes dark.

 

“Remember what I taught you,” his father’s voice comes from beside him, “You can use the darkness around you to see, all you have to do is focus.”

 

Jean takes a breath and suddenly he’s able to, well, not see, no he can’t see with the mask on but know where everything around him is. He can feel the imprints they leave in the shadows that surround them and knows where to move and that if he reaches his hand out to the left he’ll be able to touch his father's shoulder. 

 

He knows that they are passing trees, that the trees are becoming more sparse the deeper they come into Niflheim territory and he has no problems reaching into the back seat of the car they rented to grab a coat and shrug it on.

 

The coat is full of chocobo feathers and it is quite possibly the warmest thing Jean owns. He loves it, it reminds him of being in a sauna with how warm it is and Jean is always cold so it's nice to have something warm wrapped around him.

 

Eventually, they reach the part of their journey where they have to leave their car in favour of an airship that will take them to the Imperial Palace where Jean will be introduced as Ardyn’s son and heir and he’ll have to put all those lessons in politics to use.

 

Jean grimaces. His father chuckles.

 

“Dreading the experience already?” Ardyn asks, “Why we’re not even there yet.”

 

“I’ve watched enough dramas to know that I won’t like it,” Jean says, “That it’s going to political and dramatic and age me before my time.”

 

Ardyn’s laughter is low and cracking and it causes Jean to smile.

 

“Come now, son,” Ardyn says, his tone light and teasing, “You should know that politics aren’t all that boring. Perhaps there will be an assassination attempt! Those are always such fun.” Jean rolls his eyes behind the mask and shakes his head. Smoothly sliding out of the car as Ardyn turns off the engine Jean walks over to stand next to his father.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Jean says, doubtful, “You probably only like them for the paperwork they excuse you from.” You probably order most of them, goes unsaid but Jean knows Ardyn has heard it because when his father speaks next there is a grin in his voice.

 

“Such an accusation!” Ardyn says walking toward the airship with Jean following.

 

“A warranted one,” Jean says and Ardyn laughs again.

 

Jean pays no attention to how the human workers on the launch pad stop and stare at them and smiles.

 

* * *

 

Jean does not like the Emperor. He does not like the way the Emperor sounds when addressing Jean’s father. Doesn’t like the condescending way he treats Ardyn or the way the shadows feel around him.

 

The shadows around Iedolas are not comforting as others are. They feel slimy and sick and Jean wants to lash out and demand what Iedolas had done to his shadows.

 

He doesn’t, instead when Ardyn introduces Jean to the Emperor Jean bows.

 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Jean says, playing the part of a well-trained servant, “It is an honour to meet you. I am Jovan Izunia, son of Ardyn Izunia.”

 

“Indeed,” Iedolas says, “I always knew Ardyn to be loose with his affections but to sire a child. How inconvenient for him.”

 

Jean shows no outward reaction, he does not tense or smile in a threatening way that his father showed him, he does not rise from his bow until Iedolas dismisses them.

 

“Leave,” Iedolas says, “I imagine you have much work to catch up on, Ardyn.”

 

Ardyn bows again, and Jean rises from his own bow. Together father and son leave the room.

 

Vaguely, Jean wonders if he could kill Iedolas.

 

He knows better than to ask his father about it. At least not here where there are eyes and ears everywhere.

 

The first thing they do when they get to Ardyn’s rooms is rip out all listening devices. They do the same to Jean’s rooms which are conveniently placed next to Ardyn’s.

 

“I don’t like him,” Jean informs Ardyn when they are done.

 

“Neither do I,” Ardyn admits, “He is a power hungry fool who thinks of nothing but his own gain. That wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so completely and utterly dull.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Jean. “He is isn’t he?” Jean muses, “Here I thought Emperor’s were supposed to be interesting.”

 

"Most are," Ardyn agrees, "This one, sadly, is not."

* * *

 

That night Jean dreams.

 

He dreams of cold, of ice covering his body, he dreams of the freezing depths of winter and frostbitten fingers.

 

He dreams of dying.

 

When he wakes, he wakes to find his sheets coated with ice and quickly warms and dries them with a small fire spell. A look outside his rather large window shows it's still night. The moonlight reflecting off the snow making it sparkle like crystal and Jean lets the sight calm him.

 

His father is in the next room. He is safe.

He goes back to bed.

 

This time a blue-grey figure meets him. Her skin sparkling like snow under the moon and Jean gasps out a single word.

 

"Shiva," he says, and the figure smiles.


	3. blizzard

Shiva is beautiful. Shiva is beautiful but her appearance causes nothing but an ice cold rage to build up in Jean. He thinks of how his father told him of Gentiana, of how Gentiana was kind to him, of how she made him and Somnus flower crowns and was almost a second mother. Ardyn has told Jean of how Gentiana was kind.

Of how Gentiana is Shiva. Of how Shiva had turned her back on him when Somnus did. He thinks of the ancient sorrow in Ardyn’s gaze when he had told Jean this.

“Never trust the gods,” Ardyn had said, “For they will surely turn on you.”

Now Shiva stands before Jean, an empty smile on her doll-like face and Jean feels nothing but rage.

“What,” Jean starts, his voice sharp as ice, “Do you want?”

“Bahamut has forsaken you,” Shiva says, voice birdlike in its sound, “Yet there is time still for you to earn back his favour-”

“I don’t want it,” Jean interrupts, remembering with sudden clarity that night two years ago when Bahamut had all but ordered him to kill his own father, “I will not be a pawn in your morbid play. I will not bow my head to one who stole me from my resting place. And I will not raise a weapon against my father. Not now, not ever.”

Jean’s words ring with a note of finality, with the air of having been spoken by someone who will not change their stance on the matter they are speaking about.

The air around them goes still before a cutting wind picks up. Jean wants to flinch away from the way the cold air wants to cut through the skin on his cheeks.

Still Jean meets Shiva’s stare.

Still, he does not look away.

“The ire of the Draconian is a dire thing to hold,” Shiva warns, her voice gentle, motherly almost and Jean wants to laugh, “If you would only listen, I could protect you from his wrath.”

“And so I should listen to you?” Jean asks incredulously, “So I should take your word that you would protect me? The favour of the Astrals does not come without a price. I know how this story will end, Ice-Mother. Or did you forget that?”

“A single player can change the game,” Shiva says.

“And yet what is a prince to the wrath of gods?” Jean asks, “What is the son of the Accursed to the beings that bestowed gifts upon his father only to forsake him when he needed them the most? What is a child to do in the face of a centuries-old prophecy? If it is my duty to die with my father, then so be it. I will be honoured to die along with the man who has shown me nothing but love.” Jean’s voice is bitter, full of loathing for his and his father’s fate.

If Jean could have anything out of this life it would be for his father to live. To be free of the pain of the Scourge, to find enjoyment and happiness in life again.

If Jean could have anything, it would be for his father to be truly happy. To laugh and smile freely, it would be for Ardyn to not have the burden of prophecy on his shoulders and for Ardyn to be able to love others again as much as he loves Jean.

It’s a foolish wish, Jean knows, but he would do anything to make it a reality.

Shiva tilts her head, her eyes cold and unforgiving as she stares at Jean. Jean wants to do nothing but run, but curl up in his fathers' arms and listen to Ardyn’s faint heartbeat. More than anything, he wants his father at that moment.

But Ardyn, for all his magic and might, cannot enter dreams. Jean is alone, alone with a blizzard brewing around him as a goddess considers him.

“You are insolent,” Shiva says, her voice hard and unyielding, “You are a fool.”

“I am a fool that is loved.”

“Then your love will damn you,” Shiva declares and Jean shivers, feels the cold of his dreamworld seep into his bones.

Jean’s eyes harden.

“So be it.”

 

* * *

 

Ardyn does not need to sleep. He is tireless and relentless and yet somehow the mere aspect of having a son has changed him.

Ardyn does not need to sleep, but he there are times he does. Times when he follows the example of his son and lets his mind wander and body rest.

He has never regretted the loss of consciousness more than he does when he wakes and feels cold. Ardyn hasn’t felt cold like this for centuries and for it to happen now-

Ardyn is on his feet before he’s fully processed what he’s doing. He’s yanking open the door that joins his quarters to his sons and for a moment time seems to stand still as he takes in the scene before him.

Jean’s room is covered in frost, fractals of ice spread out from the center of the room where Jean’s bed is and for one brief moment time itself seems to shatter because the next thing Ardyn knows he’s somehow cradling his son, his light, his life, in his arms and desperately trying to unthaw him.

Jean might as well have been a block of ice, his dark skin covered in frost and snow and his hair stiff and frozen together. His face is peaceful, almost as though he’s found solace in death and Ardyn is selfish enough to want his son back despite the peace on his face. Ardyn is selfish enough that he wants his son to live.

His heart aches and seems to break in his chest as Jean still doesn’t breath, as he doesn’t open his eyes and give Ardyn a smile that Ardyn would break the world to see. Jean is his son and Ardyn might be a monster but he would do anything for his son.

Anything.

The ice in the room slowly melts as Ardyn’s magic raises the temperature of the room by multiple degrees. The ice and snow melt but Jean still isn’t breathing despite Ardyn’s flame hot grip on him.

For a moment it doesn’t seem like it’s going to work, it doesn’t seem like Ardyn will be able to bring back the one person that he would live for and Ardyn can feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest because of course, this would happen. Because of course he would be granted something only for it to be taken away.

Of course, he’d never get to see his son grow into adulthood. Never see the starbright smile on Jean’s face again. He’d never get to listen to his son chatter about philosophy or poetry and it hurts.

What has he done to deserve the happiness that comes with parenthood after all? What has he done to deserve his child? He’s merely a monster and what monster knows happiness? For once since it came to light that Jean shares Ardyn’s curse Ardyn wishes for the Scourge to bring him his child back.

In his arms, Jean trembles and the world rushes back to focus on the trembling child in his arms. Ardyn can’t help the tears that gather at the corner of his eyes as Jean coughs and trembles and raises his hand to clutch Ardyn’s coat.

“Don’t leave me,” Jean says as if Ardyn is safe; as if he doesn't have any reason not to trust Ardyn, “Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” Ardyn swears, “Never.”

 

* * *

 

Jean died. He knows he died. He knows his words had angered a goddess and that he had paid the price.

Jean died for speaking the truth and he hadn’t wanted to die. He had wanted to stay with his father, had wanted to make his father laugh and smile because both of them are damned so they might as well be happy while they can be.

Jean had wanted to live and he still died.

He doesn’t know how he came back. Doesn’t know how he came to wake up in Ardyn’s arms. There’s a period of darkness in which there is nothing he can recall after his meeting with Shiva and he doesn’t care. Not right now at least. Right now his heart beats quick in his chest and he wants to hide from the world. Hide from the gods and goddess that think he and his father are mere playthings.

He wants to hide.

He clings to his father as Ardyn carries him to the bathroom and runs him a warm bath. He lets Jean soak for however long Jean wants and is suddenly there when Jean is dressed in one of Ardyn's oversized sweaters and a fuzzy pair of pyjama bottoms.

Ardyn offers him a comforter that Jean snatches out of his father's hands and wraps around him. He's still so cold despite the scalding temperature of the bath.

He's still cold and doesn't think he'll ever be warm again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Oft hope is born when all is forlorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881199) by [CharlotteDaBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm)




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